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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443873">if you’re still bleeding you’re the lucky ones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbridgeabledistances/pseuds/unbridgeabledistances'>unbridgeabledistances</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Sickfic, but defs some heavy themes, but don’t worry theres lots of fluff at the end, more like injury fic, the first half of this is the least fluffy thing i have ever written</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:40:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbridgeabledistances/pseuds/unbridgeabledistances</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Terry gave a bitter, menacing chuckle that sent a shiver of remembrance down Mickey’s spine. “Who’s the kid?”<br/>“Uh. It’s Debbie’s kid.” <i>My niece,</i> he bit back. <i>My husband’s sister’s daughter.</i></p><p>“Huh.” Terry threw his cigarette butt on the ground, slowly grinding the ash into the slush with the toe of his shoe. “Funny that you’re out here with her, all on your own. No one else on the street, not for blocks.”</p><p>Mickey exhaled, attempting to still his racing heart. On a different day, when he wasn’t so caught off guard by Terry’s presence, he would have ended this here and now; pulled a gun and put a bullet right through his father’s homophobic skull. But Terry was right—there was no one outside for miles, no one stirring behind the curtains of the houses lining the streets, no one to call for help if Terry physically overpowered him and kicked the life out of him. And Franny was still holding his hand.<br/>-<br/>Based on the tumblr prompt: Mickey is walking with Franny when Terry shows up. Mickey protects Franny. Franny runs home where Ian and family are and shouts that a man is hurting Uncle Mickey. Basically hurt Mickey, protective Ian. Ian comforting Mickey afterwards!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>328</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if you’re still bleeding you’re the lucky ones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>tw for some strong homophobia, physical violence, and a mention of death</p><p>also, this takes place pre-11x04 (since who knows what will go down with Terry in that episode yikes)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“C’mon kiddo! Bet you can’t catch me!”</p><p>“Yes, Uncle Mickey, yes I can!”</p><p>The sun was beating down onto the slushy pavement of the South Side, reflecting off the gritty late-winter snow that remained on the sides of the road and nearly blinding Mickey as he tried to lightly jog down the slippery sidewalk, just outside of Franny’s reach. Franny, who was a tottering bundle in her thick winter coat, a scratchy-looking red woolen scarf Tami had given her for Christmas, and a pink sparkly winter hat Debbie had forced over her ears before Mickey took her outside to play, was running as fast as she could to stay on Mickey’s heels.</p><p>Mickey hadn’t meant to take Franny as far away from the Gallagher house, into the winding South Side neighborhoods, as he had—Debbie was having some sort of meltdown about her business going to shit after a situation with organic snacks and climbing out a window (Mickey wasn’t even going to ask)—and sensing tensions were high, Mickey had pulled Franny out the back door to run around and play “gangsters,” her new favorite game, with the toy guns he’d gotten her for Christmas. They were going to stick to playing in the backyard, mostly because it was fucking freezing and almost dark outside, until Franny was about to encroach on Mickey’s fictional gang’s territory under the porch stairs, and of course Mickey couldn’t have that—so now they were racing through the streets, with Franny giggling and practically tripping over her own clunky winter boots every few steps.</p><p>“Is that all you’ve got, Wonder Woman? Come and get me!” Mickey called to Franny over his shoulder.</p><p>“I’m gonna get you! I will, Uncle Mickey!”</p><p>Mickey chuckled as he kept running, and felt his heart soften. As shitty as he’d always been with kids, and how often he froze in panic anytime he’d had to take care of Yev back in the day, he had to admit that goofing around with Franny was pretty fucking fun.</p><p>And that also just made him depressed, because he knew that she was going to grow up surrounded by all of this bullshit—the dysfunctional family, Frank’s shenanigans, the drugs and beat downs, the mom with an ankle bracelet. Right now, Franny was just a kid—the neighborhood hadn’t taken its toll on her yet.</p><p>Luckily, Mickey didn’t have shit to do all day—he barely had a job aside from security for Kev and V’s practically non-existent pot side business, so he had plenty of time to play with Franny. If he could do anything with his life right now, he could make sure that Franny had some happy memories to cut through all the bullshit life was inevitably about to throw to her.</p><p>Mickey continued to run, lost in thought, until Franny caught up to him and sharply tugged on the back of his coat.</p><p>“I win, Uncle Mickey, I win! Now I’m gonna blow your face off!” Franny said with a playful scowl as she held up her toy gun.</p><p>Mickey chuckled and put his hands up in the air in resignation, turning to face Franny. “Alright, kid, you got me. Nice work.”</p><p>He held his hand out for Franny to high-five, which she gave willingly before pulling off her sparkly pink hat and throwing it on the ground.</p><p>“I’m too hot. Uncle Mickey, can we go home now? I think I know the way back.”</p><p>Mickey ruffled her hair. “Sounds good, kiddo. Lead the way.”</p><p>Just as they were about to start walking in the direction of the Gallagher house, a gruff voice came from behind them, mingling with the blowing wind.</p><p>“Mickey?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh fuck.</em>
</p><p>Mickey turned around slowly, giving a quick mental prayer to whatever god that existed, if god even did fucking exist, that the voice he heard wasn’t the one he thought he had.</p><p>In the end, it was as bad as his worst nightmare.</p><p>Terry stood six feet in front of him on the ice-caked sidewalk, a lit cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth (just like it always was), his hands visibly curled into fists by his sides. Mickey took in a sharp breath, and tried to quell the wave of panic overtaking him. <em>Calm the fuck down. </em>Mickey tried to remember the checklist of what he always had to do when he saw his dad, a survival tactic he hadn’t had to think about for months: <em>Keep your eyes down. See if you can smell alcohol. Look at his waistline and see if he has a gun.</em></p><p>Mickey’s eyes flickered to Terry’s pockets. No gun, thank fucking god. He slowly reached out behind him to take Franny’s tiny gloved hand, mentally cursing himself for letting them walk this far from home. Then he looked Terry in the eyes and swallowed. <em>You can do this</em>.</p><p>“Hiya, pops. What’re you doing over here on this beautiful Tuesday afternoon?”</p><p>Terry’s eyes narrowed, his stance still aggressive, but he remained rooted a safe distance away. “Don’t make fucking small talk with me, fairy boy.” He paused and took a drag of his cigarette. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you around here.”</p><p>“Well, I guess today’s your lucky day. About time for a family reunion.”</p><p>Terry gave a bitter, menacing chuckle that sent a shiver of remembrance down Mickey’s spine. “Who’s the kid?”</p><p>“Uh. It’s Debbie’s kid.” <em>My niece</em>, he bit back. <em>My husband’s sister’s daughter. </em></p><p>Franny looked up at Mickey, not in confusion but in wide-eyed understanding. Franny was only five, sure, but she wasn’t stupid; she’d seen her fair share of violent shit go down on the street in front of her, and she knew what aggression looked like—what it looked like when someone was about to attack. Mickey looked back at her, and ever-so-slightly raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a warning. <em>Get ready to run, kid.</em></p><p>“Huh.” Terry threw his cigarette butt on the ground, slowly grinding the ash into the slush with the toe of his shoe. “Funny that you’re out here with her, all on your own. No one else on the street, not for blocks.”</p><p>Mickey exhaled, attempting to still his racing heart. On a different day, when he wasn’t so caught off guard by Terry’s presence, he would have ended this here and now; pulled a gun and put a bullet right through his father’s homophobic skull. But Terry was right—there was no one outside for miles, no one stirring behind the curtains of the houses lining the streets, no one to call for help if Terry physically overpowered him and kicked the life out of him. And Franny was still holding his hand.</p><p>“Yeah, well. We’re just goin’ for a walk. And we’re gonna head back now, if you’re… done.”</p><p>Terry held Mickey’s gaze, unblinking. When he spoke, his voice was low and ice cold. “When the fuck was I ever done with you?”</p><p>It all happened in an instant, but also in terrifyingly smooth slow motion—Terry charged at Mickey, fists raised, skidding across the ice in a blur.</p><p>“I’m gonna fucking kill you, you deformed excuse for a Milkovich!”</p><p>Terry was seething with the same fiery anger as when he flipped the table at Yevgeny’s christening, the night he found out that Mickey was gay—as he raced across the pavement, all Mickey could do was think about how to get Franny out of here before his father’s fist connected with his face. He gently shoved Franny behind him towards the sidewalk leading to the Gallagher house.</p><p>“Go, Franny, go!” He choked out, before Terry thrust a punch to his stomach and Mickey doubled over, kneeling on the damp sidewalk.</p><p>Terry’s shadow hovered over Mickey, and he knelt down, grabbing the hair at the scruff of Mickey’s neck. Mickey could smell his breath, all stale cigarettes and burnt coffee, like it had been for the past thirty years of his life.</p><p>“Been waiting a long time for this,” Terry said through his teeth. Mickey gathered every ounce of strength that he could— <em>thank you, Kev Fit membership</em>— and crashed his own head into his father’s, toppling him over and pinning him down. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, and saw Franny’s bootprints leading down the street, saw a flash of a red scarf turning the final corner a few blocks down. <em>Thank god</em>.</p><p>Terry squirmed under Mickey’s iron grip on his wrists. “Get off me, assfucker!”</p><p>“Sorry, Dad, no can do.” Mickey could almost grin. All he had to do was knock his dad out cold, and this whole thing could be over—</p><p>Out of nowhere Terry’s right arm broke free, striking Mickey’s side and toppling him onto the pavement.</p><p>“I’ve got you now,” Terry drawled, and that was the last thing Mickey heard before Terry’s boot stuck into his side and he saw stars.</p><p>**</p><p>The sun had almost set beneath the clouds, casting a warm glow through the front windows of the Gallagher house. Ian and Carl sat in the living room, engaged in particularly immersive debate about the accuracy of cop drama TV shows in an attempt to drown out Debbie’s continued melodrama of reading her bad Yelp reviews.</p><p>“Nah, man, I’m telling you, there’s no <em>way</em> an EMT would actually get to the scene that quickly anyways—"</p><p>There was a soft series of frantic knocks at the front door, so gentle Ian barely would have heard it if the TV volume wasn’t turned to a low hum. Ian sprang up and swung the front door open to… Franny?</p><p>A tear-stained, snow-soaked Franny, with matted hair and a scarf hanging half off her neck.</p><p>“Uncle Ian! Uncle Ian, we have to go help Uncle Mickey!”</p><p>
  <em>What the fuck?</em>
</p><p>“Franny, what’s the matter?” Ian tried to gently guide her inside out of the cold, but Franny stomped her boots and shoved Ian’s hand away.</p><p>“We have to go now Uncle Ian! A man is hitting Uncle Mickey! We have to go quick!”</p><p>Ian froze. <em>Shit</em>. There were plenty of people who wanted an excuse to beat the crap out of Mickey, most of whom Mickey could take— but regardless, Ian didn’t want anyone fucking up Mickey’s parole.</p><p>“Oh, shit. Okay. Franny, can you take me to Uncle Mickey?”</p><p>Franny fervently nodded. “He’s up the street. I was chasing him when we were playing.”</p><p>Ian turned to call over his shoulder. “Hey, can anyone help me back Mickey up in a fight with some dude?”</p><p>Carl put his hands up in resignation. “Don’t look at me, man. I should be a mile away from any instance of Mickey breaking his parole.”</p><p>Sandy darted into the living room, from the kitchen where she had been consoling Debbie. “Mickey’s in a fight?”</p><p>“Apparently. He was playing with Franny down the road and now Franny’s back here.”</p><p>Sandy looked at the disheveled Franny standing in the doorway. “Shit. I’ll grab my shoes.”</p><p>“Uncle Ian, we have to go <em>now</em>!”</p><p>“Okay, we’re coming Franny. Lead the way.”</p><p>**</p><p>Franny guided them down the sidewalk, the three of them casting dark shadows onto the roadside piles of snow as the sun disappeared beneath the clouds. “This way!”</p><p>Ian didn’t really know what he was expecting to see as they turned the final corner, the street almost totally enveloped in darkness— maybe Mickey pinning some guy up against a wall, or in the back of a cop car. But he was certainly not prepared to see Mickey as a static heap sprawled on the sidewalk, while the unmistakable figure of Terry Milkovich stood above him, pummeling Ian’s husband.</p><p>Sandy noticed Terry’s presence before Ian could even react to what was going on. “Uh, Franny, hey, can you walk back to the house please?”</p><p>Before he knew what he was doing, Ian’s feet were sprinting down the street. “Terry! Get the FUCK off of him!”</p><p>Ian could barely register his body’s movements as he smashed his fist into Terry’s nose and tackled him to the ground. Terry spit in Ian’s face. “Fucking Gallagher!”</p><p>Ian hit Terry once again, keeping him pinned down. He struck him over and over, not stopping to process if he was even moving, or breathing, or fighting back.</p><p>“Hey! Everyone calm the fuck down!”</p><p>Ian looked up over his shoulder—Sandy was standing above them, pointing a gun directly at Terry, whose face was now bashed and bloody.</p><p>“Here’s what’s gonna happen, my dear Uncle Terry,” Sandy said in a sickly-sweet voice that didn’t match her iron gaze. “Ian’s going to get off of you, and you’re going to stand up and walk down the street back to your shithole house. And you’re going to watch your fucking back, because you never know when I could decide to come home one night while you’re asleep and make you regret everything you did this evening. Are we clear?”</p><p>Terry’s eyes narrowed, panting as he stayed pinned beneath Ian. “Those Gallagher queers got you too, huh?”</p><p>Sandy cocked the gun even more aggressively in Terrys direction, her thumb teasing the safety.</p><p>“That’s not how it works, dumbass. Unlike some pieces of garbage in this neighborhood, the Gallagher family actually cares about each other. Now—are we clear?”</p><p>Terry scowled at Ian, and gave a curt nod. “Get the fuck off me, fag.”</p><p>Ian didn’t budge. “Sandy, no,” Ian snarled.</p><p>“Ian, we’ll deal with him later.”</p><p>Ian looked up at Sandy, who met his eyes with an expectant gaze, still holding the gun directly at Terry. It took every ounce of strength Ian had to kneel and rise from the ground—it would be so easy to knock Terry out, to tell Sandy to pull to trigger, to put all the pain he’d caused behind them. To finally feel safe.</p><p>Terry immediately stood, and looked at Mickey on the ground, practically unconscious and his blood mingling with the snow. Terry opened his mouth to say some final retort— but Sandy clicked off the safety of the gun, steadily pointing it in his direction, and Terry promptly closed his mouth again. He turned and walked away.</p><p>Ian was immediately at Mickey’s side. “Fuck, Mickey, fuck.” Ian choked out. “Hey, look at me.”</p><p>Mickey had definitely hit his head, hard—there was a gash on his forehead dripping blood down his face, just like the night of Yevgeny’s christening when they’d watched Terry be forced into the back of a cop car. He looked up at Ian, his eyes drifting in and out of focus. Ian quickly scanned the rest of Mickey’s body—aside from a few solid kicks to the ribs, his head injury seemed to be the only major issue. Ian gently ran a hand through his hair.</p><p>“Mickey, hey, can you stand up? We’ve gotta get you home.”</p><p>First, get Mickey home— only then could Ian actually let himself process everything that had happened, and swallow down the bile rising from his stomach. First, Mickey had to be safe.</p><p>Sandy leaned over next to Ian. “Do you think we’re gonna have to carry him?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah I think so. Can you grab his legs?”</p><p>**</p><p>Mickey forced his heavy eyelids open, hazy and disoriented. He blinked, trying to clear the sleep out of his eyes. The blurry outlines of he and Ian’s bedroom, cloaked in darkness, slowly came into focus. He could feel the scratchy crocheted blanket on top of him, but aside from that his limbs were so heavy and numb he could barely move. A dull pain throbbed in the back of his head. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>“You awake?”</p><p>Ian was curled next to him in bed, not touching any part of Mickey’s aching body but leaning in close, nearly a centimeter away. Ian’s hand reached up and gently wiped a damp piece of hair off of Mickey’s forehead. Mickey winced.</p><p>“Sorry. How d’you feel?”</p><p>“I’ve definitely felt better,” Mickey croaked. “What time is it?”</p><p>“Almost 1 a.m. You’ve been out for a few hours,” Ian replied in a low voice.</p><p>“Shit.” Mickey closed his eyes. They were silent in the darkness for a few moments, but Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes on him. “My head fuckin’ hurts. What’s your prognosis, doc?”</p><p>“You definitely have a concussion. It probably won’t be a big deal in a week or two. You don’t need stitches or anything, though. And I did some EMT magic on your ribs, which mostly just means I put ice on them while you were sleeping.”</p><p>Mickey smirked, his eyes still closed—partially from the headache, but partially because he didn’t want to look Ian in the eyes yet. “Franny okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, she’s all good.”</p><p>“And, uh. Terry?”</p><p>He could feel Ian stiffen beside him. “Probably at home, being the same lowlife asshole he always has been. Sandy pulled a gun on him.”</p><p>Mickey opened his eyes, and could see through the darkness that Ian’s own eyes looked puffy and worn. It killed him to see Ian suffering, once again, because of him— it felt like they were always battling something at every turn, sure, but in Mickey’s case, it was almost always Terry they were fighting against.</p><p>“Fuck. When I’m less tired, and my body feels less like shit, remind me to go kill him, yeah?”</p><p>Ian laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I almost tried that tactic myself. I think Sandy scared the shit out of him, though. We’ll figure out what to do if he… acts up again.”</p><p>Mickey knew it was a lot more complicated than that, and that in the morning he would probably be seething and grabbing his guns and marching down to Terry’s house with fire in his eyes, but they didn’t need to dwell on that right now. Right now it was quiet, and Ian’s body was pressed against his, and Mickey was wrapped in a warm blanket in a bed with his husband. They were safe.</p><p>“I’ve thought I’d lost you thousands of times, Mick, but tonight really scared me” Ian softly whispered, cutting through the silence. “I thought… I don’t know, when I saw you on the sidewalk, I thought after all the shit your dad has said, I might’ve been too late.”</p><p>Mickey took a sharp breath in, making his ribs sting, while Ian kept talking.</p><p>“When you were in jail, or in Mexico, I knew you were always out there, and I guess knowing that always kept me going. But knowing I could have lost you again tonight—I don’t know, it scared the shit out of me,” Ian said, his voice breaking.</p><p>Mickey mustered all the strength he had, and slightly shifted his weight onto his left side to face Ian, whose eyes were glassy. Beneath all of Ian’s macho shit the past few weeks, it was so easy to look at him and forget that he was still also that tired, scared kid from the South Side that Mickey met ten years ago, one who didn’t know if good things could be permanent or if other people could stick around. Mickey put his hand up to Ian’s face, running his thumb up and down his cheekbone.</p><p>“Hey. C’mere.”</p><p>Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey—gently at first, like he was gliding his fingers over something precious, and then fully wrapping his arms around him, and burying his face in the hair on top of Mickey’s head. Mickey could feel Ian’s heartbeat through his thin t-shirt, feel the warmth radiating off of his biceps that encircled him. Ian pressed a kiss to the top of Mickey’s head, where his forehead met his hairline.</p><p>“I’m here, Gallagher,” Mickey whispered into Ian’s skin. “I’m not going anywhere. No one’s gonna change that shit.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope u enjoyed! comments/kudos make my heart happy&lt;3</p><p>also, feel free to leave me prompts on tumblr! i would've never written anything like this (by that i mean anything isn't pure fluff lol) without a prompt so am feeling grateful for/excited about any inspiration:)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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